


Between Guidance and Trust

by LarryLovesxxx



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Awkward Harry, Bullying, Crimes, Mystery, OCD!Harry, Prison AU, Prisoner!Harry, Sad Harry, Therapist!Louis, Zayn is a drug dealer, bisexual!harry, officer!liam, officer!niall, prisoner!zayn, surprise surprise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-10 19:26:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8933878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LarryLovesxxx/pseuds/LarryLovesxxx
Summary: In which Harry is a sixteen-year-old prisoner, Louis is his therapist, and Louis finds something fishy with his case.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> Before you read, I'd just like to note that I tagged Harry and Louis as together, but their relationship is platonic because of the age difference. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

"Is it true that Vanessa Boyd often bullied you?"

"Yes, your honor."

"Is it true that you've said that you hated her?"

"Well... Yes, but I didn't want her dead," Harry Styles said meekly, looking down at his hands.

The entire courtroom was silent as Harry was being questioned by the judge. Harry hated silence; it allowed his mind to wander too much, and too much mind wandering resulted in terrible memories.

Flashback---

It was no secret that Harry Styles was bisexual; he had come out as bi in freshman year, and since then, everybody knew. He'd made the decision to out himself via an Instagram post, which showed his boyfriend, Austin, kissing him on the cheek. Harry was able to hide his sexuality extremely well because Austin was homeschooled, so nobody knew about the two until he made the mistake of allowing people to know.

There were some comments showing support, but the majority of comments consisted of insults, with some just throwing derogatory words at him and some saying that he was actually gay, not bisexual, and that he said he was bi to cover up his real sexuality.

When Harry posted that picture on Instagram, he felt several different emotions. Proud, because he had finally been able to come to terms with his sexuality. Brave, because he knew he risked people seeing and treating him differently because of his sexuality. And relieved, because his secret was out and he no longer had to hide who he truly was.

Everything seemed to be different the moment he walked into school the day after outing himself.

Harry hadn't exactly been popular before, but he was, by no means, unpopular. He had a good group of three nice friends, and he was content with that; his goal was never to have over a hundred friends and be invited to every single party. However, it seemed like his social status had automatically lowered in a matter of mere hours.

Harsh, cold, teasing stares were directed at him from the moment his foot stepped inside his school. The teen had been expecting some looks, but he hadn't expected literally almost everyone to be giving them to him. Trying to brush them off and keep his cool, he approached his locker (which was sadly a bottom locker) and opened it up. As if on cue, ketchup squirted right in his face, getting in his eyes, nose, and hair. Laughter erupted around him, but Harry was able to control his anger and embarrassment and reach a hand up to wipe some of the ketchup out of his eyes. The first thing he wanted to do was run to the bathroom and cry, but he stopped himself when he noticed a note hanging in the back of his locker that read, "Turn around!"

Turning around, the boy saw what looked to be his entire grade laughing at him. What saddened him the most, though, was some of the people in the very front of the group were who he thought were his best friends: Jake, Alb, and Watson. Before he could focus on that too much, though, a ball was chucked at him, and he ducked to avoid getting hit. Standing up, he tried to figure out who threw it, which proved to be easy when a girl yelled out, "Hey, faggot, over here!" Enraged, he followed the voice only to see Vanessa Boyd, one of the bitchiest girls in his whole grade. Maybe even in the whole school. "Enjoying all the attention?" she teased cruelly with an evil smirk adorning her blushy cheeks.

By then, Harry couldn't take it anymore, so he forcefully pushed his way through the colossal crowd and ran to the nurse's office.

Things only got worse from there.

His classmates left nasty comments on all his social media accounts, nobody wanted to be seen with him anymore, and Vanessa encouraged everyone to bully him constantly. He never got a break, except for when he was using the toilet for all of one minute or at home.

He began to eat his lunches alone in the lockeroom, hoping to avoid everyone and actually have some peaceful, harmless time to himself, but eventually, people figured out where he ate. Some kids purposefully ate with their friends in the lockerooms just so escaping their torment was even more difficult.

Harry was too scared to tell his mum, as he didn't want to switch schools since he was earning remarkable grades at this school. He also didn't want the principal involved (which he knew was bound to happen if he told his mum) because that would make news spread like a wildfire: Harry Styles' Mum Pulls Him Out of Cheshire High Because He's Too Weak to Take Care of Himself! he envisioned the headline.

She had been the one to do all this. She was the one who got everyone to hate him, even his own friends. And for that, he did hate her, but he absolutely, positively, didn't want her to die.

End flashback---

"Tell me, what exactly did her bullying consist of?"

_____

"Case dismissed," the judge announced, which prompted two policemen to come over to where Harry was sitting and each grab ahold of one of his arms.

"Stand up, kid," the cop with blond hair instructed.

It was hard for the sixteen-year-old to grasp why neither of the men seemed to have any sympathy for him. Sure, he was just found guilty by the jury, but why didn't they at least feel a bit bad for him? He was only a sophomore, and he was already headed to prison.

Wiping the tears off his face, he reluctantly followed the man's orders, despite already not liking him. He decided cops most likely weren't going to be very nice to him.

"C–can I at least say goodbye to my m–mum?" Harry stuttered, doing his best not to break down in front of everybody. He'd experienced too much humiliation in his life already—he didn't need anymore.

The blond cop looked to the brunet cop, seemingly asking him his opinion with his eyes. However, the brunet cop said, "No, boy. Let's go," which caused Harry's tears to return. He looked behind himself at his mum, Anne, and his sister, Gemma, and he wished he hadn't. Both of the women were hugging each other and crying, probably wondering how their Harry could've possibly done something as cruel and inhumane as this. He wished he could've given them an answer to that.

The policemen, who Harry discovered were Officers Horan and Payne, roughly held his arms that were locked behind his back as they walked him out of the courtroom. Once through the courtroom doors, they met a fairly big crowd of people, who Harry presumed all worked at the jail and/or on his case. None of them said a single word to him, and that really hit Harry hard. He had expected prison would be awful, but he hadn't expected for his dignity as a human to evaporate. He guessed it would get even worse once he actually entered the jail.

And he was right.

The first thing he had to do was get his mugshot taken, which he didn't think would be a big deal. Oh, but it was—how wrong was he. After his handcuffs were removed, Officer Horan shouted instructions at him, ordering him to stand straight and tall. The camera flashed brightly in his sensitive green eyes, and he let out a tiny noise of protest. Apparently, that just wasn't allowed by any means whatsoever as Officer Payne (who took the picture) yelled, "Keep your mouth shut, worthless piece of shit!"

That kept him quiet. He obediently let the officers order him around and move his body to the correct positions so they could take his pictures, all the while he felt like sobbing once again. In his opinion, the officers should go a little easier on the adolescents, as he was in a juvenile detention center and not a real, adult prison. But, he also figured this was their way of having power and control over the inmates.

His handcuffs were put back on his wrists like before, and with both officers holding his arms once again, they dragged him down numerous halls for what felt like 20 minutes until they reached a door labeled, "Cells." Harry shivered; he wasn't at all excited to see what his cell looked like or who his cell mate was.

Officer Horan gave him a harsh shove when they reached what he assumed was his cell after removing his handcuffs, pushing him inside and laughing as he fell on the floor.

"Have fun, super, tough, little boy," Officer Payne teased. The men laughed as they locked the cell door shut and left the hall filled with locked up criminals. Harry wished he could leave, too.

"Hey," a voice spoke up, scaring him to death. Harry turned towards the voice, finding a young boy, probably about eighteen, lying down on a bed with a book in hand. He figured this must be his cell mate. He looked surprisingly nice.

"Uh, hey," he replied, getting up off the disgusting, filthy, concrete floor. "I'm guessing you're my cell mate?" he asked dumbly, as if it wasn't obvious.

"Obviously, mate," the boy laughed, setting his book aside and standing up. He held out a hand for Harry to shake, "Zayn," he introduced.

Harry cleared his throat, "Harry."

"What're you in for?" Zayn asked. "You don't look like a bad kid to me. You're rather cute, actually," he smirked.

"Uh, I'd rather not say," Harry fidgeted nervously. He didn't want anybody to hate him so early in his stay here—he knew he needed to make friends quickly in order to avoid any trouble.

"That's fine, mate," Zayn said. "I'm in for dealing weed."

"Oh," Harry nodded. "Sounds... Nice," he said awkwardly.

Zayn laughed, "You are so adorable. And, yes, it is quite nice, innit?"

Harry just nodded nervously.

"All right, enough of that," Zayn switched the topic, much to Harry's relief. "This is your bed, this is mine," he pointed to each bed in the room, "Don't touch mine and we'll get along just fine," he smiled.

"Okay," Harry said. "Um–are Officer Payne and Officer Horan always that cruel?" he couldn't help but ask.

Zayn grimaced, "Oh, those dumbasses? They're like that to everyone," he sighed. "Honestly, I wish they'd work at the adult prison, because they can be pretty awful. Even to some younger kids," he confessed. "It's terrible. But, that's prison life for ya."

"Oh," Harry said sadly. "That sucks."

"Yeah," Zayn said. "Well, I'm gonna take a nap before they let us out for our one hour of free time. You can do whatever."

Harry gave his okay and yawned, lying back on the uncomfortable prison bed, eager to take a quick nap. He rather liked naps, as he could escape from all his troubles temporarily. It was nice.

"Get up!"

Harry woke up to Zayn shaking him awake, whisper-yelling at him to get up. He assumed it was time for their one hour of freetime. Once he was fully awake, Zayn told him their door was unlocked and he was going to give him a tour of the place.

Zayn showed him the library, cafeteria, offices, clinic, lounge, and yard. It seemed like Harry would be able to find stuff to entertain himself with, as he quite enjoyed reading. He knew he'd be spending a lot of time in the library.

Just another thing he was made fun of for.

"You're kind of my only friend here," Zayn admitted while the two sat outside in the yard. "So, uh, I'm glad to have you," he smiled.

Harry grinned back, "Is everyone else here mean, or?" He was curious.

"Not exactly," Zayn said. "I mean, there is a fair share of jerks here—its just—I'm just not that great at making friends," he said shyly.

"Well, I'm glad we're friends, then," Harry smiled.

"Styles!"

Both boys immediately turned towards the scary voice, Harry standing up respectfully.

"Yes, Sir?" he asked.

"Follow me, kid," he ordered, and, once again, Harry's arm was grabbed and he was tugged along to some unknown place in what he knew as his new home.

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like it!

"W–where are we going?" Harry asked the guard, who continued to drag him unceremoniously down the bleak hall.

"You'll see, kid," he grunted. Though, he wasn't necessarily unkind like Officers Payne and Horan were.

Harry left it at that, not attempting to pry the man for answers anymore. He didn't want the guard's seemingly pretty good mood to change.

The guard stopped outside a door that led to God knows what; however, his strong hold on Harry's arm didn't cease as he reached in his pocket for some keys. He watched as the big man slid the key in the slot and successfully unlocked the door.

"Inside," he ordered the boy.

"Yes, Sir," Harry replied, slowly walking in the room. Once inside, he saw a small table placed in the middle with two chairs and a small man sitting in the one farthest from the door. The man had black reading glasses on as he scanned a packet of papers, and he didn't even look up until the guard spoke, "Take a seat, Styles."

The chair was extremely hard and uncomfortable, but what was he to expect from a prison? Trying to ignore it, he glanced at the man sitting across from him. He had stopped studying his packet of papers and instead began to study Harry, which made him fidget. It was obvious the man was judging the boy.

"I'll be on the other side of the room," the guard said and walked the length of the room. He ended up staring at Harry as he leaned against the wall. He was very intimidating. The man across from him nodded his assent.

"I'm Louis Tomlinson, and I'll be your therapist for the duration of your stay here," the man spoke for the first time. Harry nodded.

"We'll have a meeting every day of the week for an hour," Louis said. "Everything you tell me is confidential, except if you, let's say, confess you committed another crime, for instance."

"Okay."

"Have you ever seen a therapist before, Harry?" he asked, clicking his pen open and turning to the first of what looked to be hundreds of pages in his packet.

"No," Harry said quietly. "You're my first. My OCD is controlled by medication instead of therapy."

"All right, that's fine," Louis assured, writing something down. "Why do you think your family requested a therapist be assigned to you?"

Harry honestly didn't know. He didn't even know prisons hired therapists for the inmates before he met Louis. He decided trying to give an intelligent sounding answer would be best. "Um–because prison can be difficult, especially at a young age like 16?"

"Well, that, but mostly because of the severity of your sentence," Louis explained. "For most kids in a juvenile detention center, their sentence is one of the most difficult things to accept."

Harry took in a shaky breath as he listened to Louis, eyeing the guard in the back of the room. The man looked as bored as ever, and he most likely wasn't listening to their conversation, but Harry couldn't help but feel embarrassed. It felt like everybody he came in contact with in the prison was judging him. The reality of everything really began to sink in, as well, with Louis speaking of his sentence. How had he ended up here?

"Harry," Louis said coldly. "Are you paying attention? What's distracting you?"

Harry tried to calm his breathing so he didn't sound like a complete fool when he spoke. "Is there any w–way that he could leave?" he asked meekly, subtly nodding his head toward the guard.

Before Louis could answer, the guard started walking out of the room, saying, "I'll be right outside the door if anything should happen," he glanced at Louis, "and I'll be leaving the door cracked. Holler if you need me."

Louis turned to Harry. "Why did you want him to leave?" he asked, confused.

"I feel like everyone here is judging me," he explained. "I hate it!" he exclaimed, tears pooling in his eyes. He leaned his head back slightly in a fruitless attempt to stop them from flowing down his soft cheeks.

"Harry," Louis started, "you should be able to agree that everyone here has a valid reason to judge you," he stared at him intensely. "You did rape and murder a girl, after all."

"No, I didn't!" Harry almost shouted. "That judge was unfair and the jury was unfair—everything about my whole trial was false and completely unfair!" he looked down, trying to calm himself so he didn't get sent back to his cell early. He didn't necessarily want to talk to Louis, but it gave him something to do other than wasting what was left of his life away in his cell. "I don't deserve to be here," he whispered sadly, playing with his fingers.

"Hmm," Louis tapped his pen on the table absentmindedly, "evidence suggests otherwise," he said accusingly. He leaned forward on the table, resting his elbows. "Vanessa Boyd bullied you to no end; you hated her. It only makes sense that her victim would do this to her."

"I promise I didn't," Harry sobbed. "Somebody set me up."

"And who do you think that was?"

"I don't know!" he cried. "But somebody did! I would never do something like that—even though I hated her!"

"Okay," Louis said, ignoring Harry's protests against the topic. "You were diagnosed with obsessive compulsive disorder when you were ten, correct?" he asked, switching the subject entirely. Harry knew he didn't believe him.

"Yes," he said.

"Which explains why none of your semen was left behind—your obsessive compulsive disorder insists you keep everything neat and tidy, therefore using a condom and disposing of it elsewhere was imperative."

"I don't want to die!" Harry blurted out.

"Well, you should've thought about that before raping and killing Vanessa Boyd," Louis said with eerie calmness, not looking up from his notebook. Harry burst into tears. Despite how much it embarrassed him, he couldn't stop.

"I didn't. I swear I didn't! I don't even like killing bugs! I feel so guilty when I step on one by accident. And I'm a terrible liar."

Louis looked up at him, surprise and disbelief written across his face. He wasn't expecting this murderer to show so much real, human emotion.

"Just–just, please give me the benefit of the doubt," Harry continued. "My own mother doesn't believe me. I just need someone to believe me. Please, Mr. Tomlinson."

Still not saying a word, Louis simply pursed his lips, wrote something down in his notebook, and nodded gently. "Okay," he shrugged indifferently.

_____

Later that evening, Louis reviewed his notes from his session with Harry in his packet in the quiet of his home. The meeting had been peculiar, in his opinion. Usually, the kids he had sessions with didn't say much; they wanted nothing to do with him. But Harry—Harry was different. The boy insisted that he was innocent, that he could never hurt a fly, but every piece of evidence obtained showed otherwise.

The thing was, Harry's tears seemed anything but fake—they were genuine tears. How could a criminal—especially one that committed as heinous a crime as this—show such emotion? It was strange to Louis.

As the therapist reviewed his notes for the fifth time that night, he came to the conclusion that he didn't know enough about Harry Styles just yet, and he intended to change that the next day during their session. There was more to Harry Styles than he had thought.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos!! :)


End file.
